


Sweet Repast

by Fyre



Series: Hunger [13]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Affection, Angels with Genitalia, Domestic Bliss, Lingerie, Love, Playful Sex, Strap-Ons, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 17:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: Aziraphale squeezes his hand, urging him to stop. “I– there’s something I would rather like to do this evening. If you’d like.”Crowley raises his eyebrows. For the angel to ask, it has to be something pretty specific. “What’s that then?”The wind-blown pink of the angel’s cheeks blossoms into deeper red and Crowley grins.“Ah! That kind of thing, is it?” He steps closer, lifting his gloved hand to Aziraphale’s cheek. “Mm. Nice and toasty.”Aziraphale makes a moue at him. “Stop that,” he mumbles, batting half-heartedly at Crowley’s arm.“Can’t,” Crowley laughs, nudging the tip of Aziraphale’s nose with his. “Reptile. Need the heat.”





	Sweet Repast

The wind is fresh, whipping in off the sea. Crowley shivers, lifting his hand to flip up the collar of his coat.

“Too cold, dearest?”

He glances at the angel with a quick smile. “Nah.” They’re both as bundled up as each other, lumpy scarves – a creation of Aziraphale’s newest hobby and social club – tucked around their necks and bobbled hats dancing in the early spring breeze.

Aziraphale beams at him, pink-nose and –cheeked. “It feels rather nice to be out in the fresh air again, doesn’t it?”

“Mm.”

The beach is still deserted, but that’s hardly surprising in late February. A couple of keen kite-surfers are risking it, further along the sands, but most sensible people are tucked up somewhere warm and indoors. And yet, Crowley loves these daft little excursions, Aziraphale’s hand in his, no one else around for miles, sand crunching under their feet. Almost makes them feel kind of human in the grand scale of things.

And when they get home, it usually means a night in front of the fire. Sometimes there’s mulled wine. Sometimes a bath – Crowley’s really starting to like those. Whatever it is, it’s something that’ll replace every bit of the chill and make it worth it after all.

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale says, “that when the weather turns we should have a picnic down here some time.”

Crowley chuckles. “You and your picnics. Got a tartan blanket all picked out?”

Aziraphale sniffs primly, not rising to the gentle barb. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He glances sidelong at Crowley. “You could wear lovely little swimming pants. You know. The ones we saw in that advert on the television.”

Crowley turns a horrified look on him. “Speedos?”

Aziraphale’s eyes are wide and innocent. “Is that what they’re called?” He gives a little wiggle of his head and shoulders, one Crowley knows well. “I thought it might look rather nice on you, on the… tartan blanket.”

Crowley opens and shuts his mouth a few times. He’s known the bloody angel for millennia now, but every so often, he forgets that under all the fluff and kittenish innocence, Aziraphale has claws and he’s very good at slipping them out when you’ve reached in to metaphorically tickle him.

Aziraphale’s lips press into the line that says he’s trying very hard not to laugh, looking far too pleased with himself.

“You–” Crowley shakes his head in bemused admiration. “Who’d’ve thought you were such a little rascal?”

“Oh, I would expect you to know better,” the angel says airily. “I hardly think I can surprise you that much anymore.”

“Wouldn’t bet on it,” Crowley mutters, though he squeezes the angel’s mittened fingers.

Aziraphale gives him that soft, warm smile that is entirely reserved for him and that always warms him from head to toe. Daft, he thinks. He’s meant to be a terrible, ruthless demon who doesn’t care about anyone, but he would go down on his knees in a heartbeat for one of those smiles.

They walk on, no sound but the rush of the waves, the wail of the wind and the crunch of the sand underfoot. Neither of them speaks until they are on their way back to the Bentley, when the clouds have rolled in and the chill has turned bitter.

“Crowley.”

“Hm?”

Aziraphale squeezes his hand, urging him to stop. “I– there’s something I would rather like to do this evening. If you’d like.”

Crowley raises his eyebrows. For the angel to ask, it has to be something pretty specific. “What’s that then?”

The wind-blown pink of the angel’s cheeks blossoms into deeper red and Crowley grins.

“Ah! That kind of thing, is it?” He steps closer, lifting his gloved hand to Aziraphale’s cheek. “Mm. Nice and toasty.”

Aziraphale makes a moue at him. “Stop that,” he mumbles, batting half-heartedly at Crowley’s arm.

“Can’t,” Crowley laughs, nudging the tip of Aziraphale’s nose with his. “Reptile. Need the heat.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” the angel huffs, but rather than push Crowley’s hand away, he steps that little bit closer, until Crowley is almost wrapped up in the wings of Aziraphale’s much larger coat.

Well, Crowley just _has_ to kiss him after that. Only polite, eh?

“You were asking something?” he murmurs against the angel’s lips when they come up for air. “Something blush-inducing?”

The little smile returns, shy and ridiculous, given everything they’ve done with and to each other over the past number of months. “Ah. Yes.” Aziraphale licks his lower lip. “I was rather hoping you would like to use that… contraption of yours. With the straps.”

“The harness?”

“Mm.” The blush is back and escalating, but Aziraphale looks him in the eyes. “Would you make love to me? I mean… _internally_ so to speak?”

It–

Erk–

Gnk?

S’daft. S’daft! They’ve done… everything before. And– but–

Aziraphale’s face lights up like Christmas. “Ha!” he says, pointing what Crowley can only guess is a finger – hard to tell in mittens – at his face. “You’re blushing too!”

“’M not!” Crowley protests hotly, but he can tell he is. Go– Sat– Damn it!

“You _are_!” Aziraphale’s eyes dance with delight. “Is it… is it because it’s _love_ making?”

“Stoppit!” Crowley groans, looking anywhere but his menace of an angel.

“It is!” Aziraphale is almost bobbing on his toes. “Is that a yes, then? Will you?”

Crowley huffs. “Course I will, you idiot!”

“Oh _good_!” Aziraphale kisses him firmly. “We ought to get home, then.”

Crowley shakes his head, chuckling, as Aziraphale hauls him back in the direction of the car. “Patience is a virtue, angel.”

“As if you would know anything about that!” Aziraphale says over his shoulder.

Crowley snorts. “Said to the demon who waited for six thousand years…”

Aziraphale stops short, then abruptly is in Crowley’s arms, kissing him senseless. When he draws back, he searches Crowley’s face, as if he’s afraid he’s offended him. “I hope I was worth the wait, my love.”

And Crowley is just enough of a bastard to sway a hand from side to side. “Ehhhh…”

“Oh, _you_!” Aziraphale laughs, and they’re on the move again, Crowley trailing behind his beloved idiot of an angel.

The Bentley is cool when they get in and he lets it purr to life, warming up, the mist fading from the windows the warmer it gets.

Aziraphale tugs off his mittens, rubbing his hands together. “It _is_ rather chilly, isn’t it?”

“We should be all warmed up by the time we get home,” Crowley says, the leather of his own gloves snug against the steering wheel.

He glances sidelong to admire the self-satisfied look on Aziraphale’s face. It’s the smug expression of an angel who has got exactly what he wanted and is trying very hard – and failing – to hide how pleased he is about it all.

“Angel,” Crowley ventures, when they’re about ten minutes away from the house. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, my dear.”

Crowley looks over at him. “Why… that? Why now? We’ve done it before, that way.”

Aziraphale fiddles with his hands in his lap. “I wasn’t really in any state to appreciate it,” he says with a sheepish smile. “We were a little drunk, after all.”

Crowley nods sagely, oh so sympathetically. “Still…” he says, wrinkling his nose, “You seemed to enjoy it pretty well for someone who wasn’t in any state to appreciate it.”

Aziraphale gives him that stern look. “You _know_ what I mean.”

“Mm.” Crowley tries very hard to keep from grinning. “Yeah. You need to be able to catalogue and index it all for your files.”

“Crowley!”

Crowley widens his eyes behind his glasses. “What? That’s not what your wacky sexual experiments are about?” He gasps in feigned horror. “You mean it’s not research at all? It’s just… indulgence?” He clutches his chest. “Oh, Christ, my illusions… they’re shattering…”

The angel barely manages to smother a snort of amusement. “You are such an imbecile sometimes.”

“Can’t see!” He moans dramatically, throwing his hand to his forehead. “Solid world view, crashing down! Angels horny! More at six!”

To his absolute glee, Aziraphale actually swats him on the arm. “Do you have to try hard to be so annoying?”

Crowley beams at him. “Nah, angel,” he says, showing all his teeth. “Comes to me naturally around you.”

Aziraphale sniffs haughtily. “Anyway, if you must know, why that? Because we didn’t have the apparatus for it before. I wasn’t about to ask you to make yourself uncomfortable again purely so I could see what all the fuss is about.”

Crowley really has to fight the smile. He offers his hand and Aziraphale takes it at once, threading his fingers between Crowley’s.

“You’re soft, angel,” Crowley says fondly.

“I love you,” Aziraphale replies honestly. “It’s as simple as that.”

“Soft,” Crowley repeats, but he’s still holding Aziraphale’s hand as they swing back through the gate and up the gravel drive outside of the cottage. He parks up and looks over at the angel. “When you asked, you were talking straight away?”

Aziraphale goes pink again. “If you’d like to. I mean, I’m rather…” He clears his throat and gives another one of those excited little wiggles. “I’d be quite happy to.”

“Can’t say no to that,” Crowley says with a grin. He lifts Aziraphale’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “Bedroom it is.”

It never fails to impress him how fast the angel can move when the promise of something he wants is on the table. Or, y’know, on the bed in this case. It’s just lucky the car was warm and they’re not bloody freezing anymore, because nothing ruins the mood like freezing your proverbial bollocks off.

Aziraphale stops in the hall to reach up and pluck Crowley’s glasses off and beams at him. “Thank you.”

Crowley gives him a bemused smile. “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“Oh, you’ve done plenty, darling.” Aziraphale grasps his hand and leads him purposefully in the direction of the bedroom.

“Y’know, dragging me off to your sex cave isn’t as romantic and arousing as you might think,” he observes wryly, grinning when the angel blushes to the tips of his ears.

“Oh. Um. Yes.” Aziraphale drops his hand. “I suppose it–”

Crowley shuts him up by kissing him. Not hard or anything, but slanting his mouth over Aziraphale’s, swallowing his small, pleased gasp, and darting his tongue against the angel’s. Aziraphale melts into him, his hands clutching at Crowley’s coat, and Crowley is immediately and acutely aware of just how overdressed they both are.

So he makes a start of changing that, unravelling the angel’s scarf and tossing it to one side, then pushing Aziraphale’s coat off his shoulders, even as Aziraphale tugs and pushes Crowley’s coat down, almost pinioning his arms to his side.

Crowley looks down with a rueful laugh, waggling his fingers to demonstrate his now limited movement. “I think we’re going to have to work together here.”

Aziraphale laughs self-consciously. “Sorry, my dear,” he says, helping Crowley the rest of the way out of his coat. “I got a little carried away.”

“Mm.” Crowley grins. “A little.”

He catches Aziraphale’s face in one palm, kissing him again, slow and deep and pushing him back one step, then another, into the bedroom. Aziraphale shakes his arms out of his sleeves, his heavy winter coat dropping, then his hands are back and unravelling Crowley’s hair, fingers burying in the heavy waves.

“That’s your priority?” Crowley murmurs against his mouth as they stumble closer to the bed. “Both of us fully-dressed and you go for the hair?”

Aziraphale makes a face at him. “I like what I like.” He draws his hands back down, making fast work of Crowley’s fleecy top, then slips his hand beneath the skinny tee Crowley is wearing, his palms unbearably and deliciously warm. “Off?”

Crowley manages a croak of a sound, nodding, and lifts his arms as Aziraphale shoves the shirt up and over his head.

“Ah…” Warm fingers splay on his chest. “Lovely.”

“Angel!” Crowley groans reproachfully.

Aziraphale doesn’t look the least bit repentant. In fact, his mouth has a decidedly wicked slant as his hands move downwards and in a matter of seconds – so fast it might even have held a whisper of a miracle – Crowley’s trousers and boxers are around his ankles.

“Gnah!” He protests half-heartedly, but it dies in his throat as a heated kiss presses to his belly.

Aziraphale is sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him, looking up in hungry anticipation. “Can you fetch it? Shall we put it on you?”

Crowley’s brain stops. It. Yeah. Should get it. And… yeah… Aziraphale wants… Aziraphale putting it on him. Aziraphale. With the straps and the leather and the…

“Crowley?” A hand ghosts along his hip. “Dearest?”

“Minute,” he croaks, kicking his trousers off his ankles and tottering towards the dresser. Middle drawer, in its box. Keeping it nice. Keeping it special. He lifts it out, carrying it back over, and Aziraphale looks from it to him as if he’s a Priest carrying a sacred relic.

“May I?” he asks, holding out his hands.

Crowley’s brain is doing stupid things. Stupid stupid things. Like staring like a sun-struck idiot as his lover runs his fingers all over the straps and buckles and everything, as if they’re as much a part of Crowley as anything else.

“Oh, I _see_…” Aziraphale glows with pleasure. “Here! Let me help you into it.”

Crowley presses his knuckles to his mouth, heart in his throat, as he wobbles and Aziraphale – Aziraphale! Angel! Actual one-hundred-percent angel! – helps him into his harness. So gentle, too, adjusting the straps against his skin, smoothing them, checking they’re not too tight with hopeful little looks that draw the softest and most pathetic sounds from Crowley’s throat.

“There!” The angel is pink-faced again, blushing furiously. “You–” He bites his lip, his eyes roving Crowley with so much heat, Crowley is astonished he doesn’t burst into flames at once. “Oh, you look _marvellous_.”

He should say something, yeah, acknowledge it, something, but all the words go out the window, when Aziraphale looks thoughtfully at the false erection. He glances up and meets Crowley’s eyes, his face flaming a darker shade of red, then bows his head and takes it into his mouth.

“GNk!!”

Aziraphale lifts his head at once. “Is– is that all right?” he asks, worry all over his face.

Crowley nods, staring, wide-eyed, as angelic hands catch his hips and Aziraphale wraps his mouth around the fake cock, cheeks hollowing out. Must be some animal instinct that makes Crowley rock his hips, thrusting against Aziraphale’s mouth. Same instinct sinking his fingers into the angel’s hair. Aziraphale’s making little sounds, greedy, pleased, sounds, and his mouth is full, lips all pink and wide and Crowley’s brain is in bits all over the place.

“A-Angel,” he manages, pulling on Aziraphale’s hair. “Enough.”

Aziraphale lifts his head, saliva frothing the corners of his mouth. His eyes are dark. “Warming it up,” he says, then reaches up and Crowley can’t help but fall down into his embrace, pressing the angel back against the bed, claiming his mouth.

Some part of Crowley’s brain is ticking, because buttons come undone and his mouth is on Aziraphale’s throat, nibbling and licking as he pushes the shirt open little by little. And… and…

He lifts his head, looks down, and words gone again. He stares, then stares some more at Aziraphale’s blushing face. The angel giggles and with no effort at all, pushes Crowley over onto his back. Crowley’s tongue slithers along quivering lips and he can only watch as Aziraphale sheds his shirt and trousers and…

“Oh _fuck_…” Crowley moans.

Stockings were almost too much. Stockings and corset, all baby blue and frilled and delicate.

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale asks, hopeful and bright-eyed.

Best answer Crowley can give is rolling to his knees and catching Aziraphale’s mouth in a heated kiss, hands skimming over the froth of lace and silk. The heat of Aziraphale’s skin through the flimsy fabric is almost unbearable and he has to smother another keen of want in bites along the angel’s throat.

Aziraphale catches one of his hands, guiding it down beneath silk and frills to the place where there would normally be knickers. None today. None and hot and wet and Aziraphale meets his eyes, rocking his hips against Crowley’s fingers. Crowley forgets everything for a moment, everything except the warmth and those eyes and his fingers move without thought, slipping, pressing and…

“Crowley,” Aziraphale groans, pushing down onto his hand, pressing him deeper.

Good sound, that. But not what the angel asked for. Angel asked for something special.

Crowley draws his hand back and kisses Aziraphale again, pressing him back, back, back to lie on the bed. Angel’s legs fall apart on either side of him as he leans closer, bracing hands on either side of his head, kissing him over and over, soft, tender, light little kisses. Rocks his hips a bit, little warning, little hint, little check…

Aziraphale gazes up at him, smiles, nods, and wraps his arms around Crowley.

“Yes, darling,” he breathes.

Crowley holds his gaze as he pushes forward with his hips, sinking himself all the way into Aziraphale’s body, watching the way Aziraphale’s eyes widen then shut, the way his lips part in a trembling o, the way his body arches just, just so. And legs are around him suddenly, plump and warm and soft as silk.

“’Ziraphale?” he breathes out, lips close to the angel’s. “Okay?”

Fingers dig into his back and thighs tighten around his hips. “Mm.” The angel’s eyes, pupils flared wide, open. Crowley rolls his hips once, laughing hot and breathless as Aziraphale gives another soft moan, pushing up against him. Good sound. Does it again, again.

“Easy pleased, aren’t you?” Crowley manages, though every little sound Aziraphale is making is tugging away at his senses.

In retaliation, his stubborn darling angel narrows his eyes and Crowley gives a strangled wail as suddenly longer nails rake the length of his back, sending fire tearing through him. Utterly under their own volition, his hips leaping forward, grinding him harder against Aziraphale, who gives a guttural and utterly satisfied groan.

“Cheating bugger,” he growls down at the angel, his fingers bunching into fists in the covers. Oh, two can play at that game and he starts moving in earnest, shifting the angle of his hips, pushing himself harder and deeper and abruptly, Aziraphale’s moans turn into sharper, shorter breaths.

Crowley laughs shakily as those nails hook into his back again. “Good? Good, angel?”

Aziraphale only nods, his lips parted and flushes, and fuck, beads of sweat on his brow, his lips.

Crowley can’t help himself. Leans down, licks at his lips, kisses him, ravaging his mouth, tongue matching his every stroke. Aziraphale makes small, breathy sounds into his lips. S’distracted. S’good. Doesn’t notice Crowley moving his hand, not until fingers slip down between them and _pinch_.

Aziraphale doesn’t do anything as undignified as scream, but he _does_ grab Crowley’s unprotected arse with both hands and _squeeze_.

“Fuck! Angel!” Crowley yelps, torn between laughing and outrage. “Nails! NAILS!”

Those lust-hazed eyes squint at him. “Y’started it,” Aziraphale rasps out, his breathing ragged. “Damn it, Crowley…”

“What?” Crowley moved his hand, then rubs with his thumb, earning a full-body shudder and those gorgeous plump thighs tighten around him. Best prison, he thinks giddily, so he does it again and again, rocking and stroking and the breath catches between his teeth as Aziraphale fumbles and gropes and wraps his hands around the harness. “Angel?”

Aziraphale’s legs unwind around him and he whines at the loss.

“A moment,” Aziraphale breathes out, then somehow – Crowley’s too busy admiring his scenery – Crowley’s flat on his back among the pillows, and oh holy _fuck_…

Aziraphale’s face is aglow. “Ah. There.”

Crowley stares up at him, too awed, stunned and bloody horny to move, as Aziraphale rides him like he’s a prime stallion. All flushed, all over, from head to toe. Pink skin peeping through the corset, through the gaps in the stockings and garters and, rocking himself urgently demandingly, teeth cutting into his swollen pink lips.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Crowley breathes. Gonna discorporate. Yeah. Fuck. Angel on him, looking like that, panting his name, rocking against him, _using_ him like that, like– like– “Jesus Christ…”

Aziraphale’s fingers rake down his chest. Not a spectator sport, he seems to say without words, his eyes dark and hungry. He tips himself forward over Crowley, hips still moving urgently, hot and heavy over him and Christ, his mouth _burns_ on Crowley’s throat and there’s a hand in his hair, twisting and Crowley keens, bucking up so hard that Aziraphale yelps.

“A-ang–”

“Again!” Aziraphale growls against his throat, twisting his fingers, setting Crowley on fire all over again.

“Christ!” Crowley jerks his hips up again, feels that shudder in response and grins. Oh, angel… it’s fucking _on_…

Hands on angelic thighs, squeezing, hips thrusting up, harder, deeper, thumbs sliding up to inner thigh, under frills and froth and _pressing_, _rubbing_, _urging_ the angel to enjoy it, and Christ, Aziraphale takes the hint, grinding himself down harder, pushing himself demandingly against those fingers, breaths hot and wet and wanting and _sharp_ on Crowley’s throat.

S’hard to keep focus, keep rhythm. Every bite, thrust, s’getting mixed up and fuck, oh _fuck_…

Aziraphale outlasts him. Not much. But enough. Still…

Still…

Crowley watches as the angel arches, his fingers digging into Crowley’s chest, head thrown back. Reckless. Lost in it. Vulnerable.

A knowing hand moves and…

“Oh Fuuuuuuck!”

Aziraphale’s scream rings back from the rafters and Crowley sags, panting and beaming, recognising a job well done. His fingers slip back to pet soft thighs, leaving shimmering trails on skin and silk. And still, Aziraphale sits, swaying, his eyes glassy and his lips slack and smiling.

Crowley gazes up at him.

Looks lovely like that, sated and soft and warm and pink.

With effort, he pushes himself up on his elbows, then manages to sit, bringing them face-to-face. He lifts a damp hand to brush Aziraphale’s cheek, smiling as the angel blinks at him, as if he has only just remembered he’s there.

“All right, angel?” he says gently, stroking his thumb down Aziraphale’s cheek.

Aziraphale shifts his weight and they both shudder pleasantly as the toy they are sharing moves inside the angel. “Quite,” Aziraphale breathes, then turns his head to lick at Crowley’s fingers. Course he does, Crowley thinks giddily, thrusting his fingers into Aziraphale’s hungry mouth. Gently rocks his hips as much as he can, and feels more than hears the moan.

Still good, eh, angel?

He slips his other hand behind Aziraphale’s head, cradling it, and gently rolls them again. Aziraphale’s legs wrap around him again, welcoming and warm and this time, there’s no hurry, just Aziraphale’s mouth around his fingers as he slowly, lazily rocks and rocks, both of them slick and wet and Aziraphale’s small keening sounds, gentler and no less urgent.

This time, it’s quiet and soft and warm and hands are in his hair and his world has narrowed down to all the places where warm and pliant and soft, wet skin is touching him. He buries his face in Aziraphale’s throat, breathing him in and shudders as the angel holds him tighter, drawing lips from his fingers to whisper sweet nonsense that couldn’t– shouldn’t do _anything_ to a demon, but oh fuck, it does, and all at once, they’re stealing each other’s breath and holding each other so tight and he never wants to let go. 

He has no idea how long they lie like that. Doesn’t care either. They’ve got forever after all.

Aziraphale’s fingers stroke through his hair, down his back, and he nuzzles the angel’s throat, wondering at how _good_ it feels to be completely wrapped up in him.

“Darling?” Aziraphale murmurs, when the world beyond the windows is darker and quieter, and the only light is the glow of the angel in his arms.

“Mm?”

“We’ll be doing this again some time, won’t we?”

Crowley lifts his head, giving the angel a very, very pointed look and the subtlest of twitch of his hips, which gets a gasp out of those nicely kiss-bruised lips. “What do you think?”

Funny how the soft bastard can still blush after all that. “Oh _smashing_.”

Crowley bursts out laughing and buries his face back in Aziraphale’s throat to hide his stupid grin. “I don’t know why I love you, you daft bugger,” he says, kissing Aziraphale firmly below his ear, “but I do.”

At once, Aziraphale’s arms and legs tighten around him. “I know, darling,” the angel breathes like a prayer, “and I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, feel free to [swing by my tumblr](https://amuseoffyre.tumblr.com/) :) I babble a lot. Frequently about GO :D


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